Students often remember their teachers, but teachers remember students just as vividly. This is the case with a student from George Mason University whom I haven’t seen in nearly 25 years, but whose words on the Vietnam War I read every year to my classes.

Of all the possible ways to remember those who have died in battle, Ed Cherry’s essay on the death of a Marine holds the most power for me.  Written shortly after the opening of the Vietnam Memorial on the Mall, the essay begins with Ed looking for the names of his lost buddies in vain, since he knew them only by nicknames. But one winter day, he recognizes the name of Wilfred Lynn Donaho, and then it all comes back to him.

During the monsoons of 1969, Lynn was killed in a firefight, but the weather prevented him from being airlifted out. “We’d have to carry him out, and that’s what we did. We strapped him to a pole and began the long walk home, the walk Lynn would never make.”

On Day 5 when Ed’s company had to negotiate a steep cliff in the rain, they tried to lower Lynn with ropes made out of vines. The vines broke, and they watched in horror as Lynn tumbled to the bottom.

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“I cried in Vietnam, more than once, but I never cried in front of anyone until that day. We wept for ourselves, for what we were putting ourselves through, we wept for Lynn, for what we were putting him through, and I think we wept for every soldier in Vietnam.”

They continued to carry Lynn out, and Ed “wanted to remember every detail of that operation,” yet he, like other Vietnam veterans, returned to the U.S. and put his experiences behind him. He felt disconnected from that jungle trek until the day when he found and touched Lynn’s name on The Wall.

“Not only did The Wall radiate the life of the dead, it seemed to beat with the pulse of Lynn, and the pulse shook The Wall and every man and woman it represents, and The Wall was alive. And I was more alive than I ever had been since I came home. I finally remembered, and I was finally alive. God bless you, Lynn. God bless you.”

Ed’s essay has moved hundreds of my students, and helped them understand how war shapes those lucky enough to return. Each year I marvel at its undiminished power.

Just as touching Lynn’s name brought Ed to life that day in January, his essay brings to life a war we often try to forget, but must not forget. It brings to life the sacrifices many made, and the contradictions that made the war an enigma.

Teachers are only as good as the material they teach, and often that means we must let another’s words do the teaching. Ed’s essay holds as much classroom power today as it did twenty years ago and is always met with a stunned silence. For me as well as my students, Ed’s memories of Lynn keep the meaning of Memorial Day alive.